He closed his eyes. “I’m grateful, believe me.”
“It’s true.” She watched him struggle to stay awake and marveled at his stamina when he felt so bad. “I don’t have to. You aren’t going to last much longer if we don’t get the bleeding stopped.”
He nodded. “Go shower. I’ll wait right here.” He patted the bed.
Flayme frowned. She had the sudden feeling he was much worse than he wanted her to know. “I’ll help you,” she whispered, feeling guilty that he was in such a bad way. “I swear it.”
“Right.”
“Look, where am I going to go? The phones are out. You disabled your car. The motel clerk is a horny moron. I haven’t any money. My purse is back in D.C. with my wallet, credit cards and checkbook. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right back, and I’ll sew you up…even if it kills me.”
He groaned and patted the bed again. “Like I said, I’ll wait right here.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nothing will work unless you do.
~Maya Angelou
Western Australia
Damnboola Station
February 13, Friday
Raider Remington, owner of Damnboola Station, the biggest cattle and sheep station in Western Australia, took his time settling the phone on its cradle. His gaze locked with Wild’s, and he felt his heart clench. Shit. Sometimes he detested friggin’ red tape, government bureaucracy, rules and regulations. They choked a man.
He knew without a shred of doubt Wild realized what the call had been about. It didn’t lessen the dread he felt at having to confirm it. He saw tears well in the younger man’s eyes and very nearly lost it himself.
Like all of them, Wild was running on empty. The thing was the younger man had been at the breaking point for a long time. Raider didn’t know what had happened to his cousin while Wild spent time in prison, but he could damn sure guess. And none of it was good.
It angered him that the young woman who’d lied on the witness stand had forever changed the man Wild would and should have become. There was a certain cruelty around his mouth. When he looked at a person, there was nothing there, just a vague emptiness that flared with impotent rage at times. The man was hard to read, mainly because Wild seldom met a person’s gaze head-on.
Raider thought when Wild managed to lift his head and meet his eyes—there was something there that utterly broke his heart. Shame? Raider frowned. His cousin needed someone to talk to. He’d offered and been rejected. He hoped to hell Wild found someone soon, else all that cold was going to turn to steel.
Someone to love. Someone to trust. That’s what Wild needed.
And he prayed that someone came along soon and loved the man enough not to care that he’d served time, because he had a bad feeling Wild wouldn’t last much longer, that he’d give up on life.
Raider stared into space for a moment, searching for the words to break the latest bad news. God. He hated this shit! Dianna’s plane going down, Jace getting shot, and his mother’s sudden death—needless to say, it’d been a rough patch for the Remingtons on both sides of the world.
He saw understanding in Wild’s quick glance. They’d been expecting this call. Sooner or later, they had to face the real likelihood that Dianna and her passenger, Taylor Spencer, were lost forever to them.
Wild wearily dragged a thumb tip across his forehead. “The search has been officially called off?” His voice cracked.
Raider looked away from the slight quiver he saw in his cousin’s hands. He tightened his lips. “Officially…yes. Unofficially, Silver and Colton will continue, at least for a few more days. But I have to tell you—”
“I know.” Wild cut off his words, a tremor in his voice. “Damn it, I fucking know!”
“I’m sorry. They—”
Wild shook his head. “Don’t. You’ve done all you could possibly do, Raider. I know that, and so does everyone back home. It’s been days and there’s no sign of them. We appreciate all you’ve done. Thank you.”
“We aren’t tossing in the rag just yet. Silver wants to make some more passes over the rainforest. She says she has a gut feeling…”
Wild nodded. “God, I hope she’s right.”
“For what it’s worth, she’s seldom wrong.”
“But she has been wrong?”
“Once.”
Wild tilted his head. “What happened?”
“She got married and divorced all in the same day. Or rather married and an annulment all in one day.”
“Jesus. Why?”
“She discovered her new husband had made a bet he could wed and bed her within three months. He lost the bet.”
“It’s too bad he didn’t care enough for her not to hurt her like that,” Wild sympathized. “Did she love him?”
“Who said she stopped?”
“Christ. How long ago did this happen?”
“Not long,” Raider replied. “Not nearly long enough. Three weeks?”
“I’m sorry.”
“So is Jonas McCord. He lost the best thing he ever had.”
“Silver won’t forgive him?”
Raider grinned.
“I take it that’s a no?”
He lifted a brow. “You know Silver. Trust me, Jonas will rue the day he broke her heart. You know us Remingtons. Revenge is sweet.”
Wild nodded. “Don’t I know it?”
* * * *
Ohio
Motor Lodge Motel
February 17, Tuesday
Twelve hours after the assassination…
Flayme tipped the Styrofoam cup and moaned with pure delight as the delicious flavor of hazelnut coffee burst onto her taste buds with pure energy. The only thing that would make it better was if the cowboy opened his eyes and took a hefty swallow, too.
But, no, she didn’t think that was going to happen anytime soon. She’d pushed a couple of Tylenol in his mouth and held a plastic glass the motel provided, and trickled water down his throat. That had been almost two hours ago and sixteen stitches later, at least sixteen for the knife wounds. It had taken four more for the gash on his forehead.
He looked a bit like Frankenstein’s monster with the black threads crisscrossing his flesh, but by gosh, she got the job done. What worried her, besides the fact the cowboy was pretty much out of it with fever, was what if the unknown gunman had somehow picked up their trail and was even now close by.
She eyed the gun on the bedside table. Fat lot of good it’d do her. She knew next to nothing when it came to firing a weapon. Flayme sat there for a moment, wondering what to do to help the agent get back on his feet. She had a bad feeling they weren’t safe here. She grabbed the washcloth she’d been using to cool his face, raced to the bathroom and wet it in cold water. Returning to his side, she pressed the cool cloth against his forehead. Flayme jumped when he moaned and pushed her hand and the cloth away.
“I’m freezing,” he muttered. He stared at her with fever-glazed eyes. “We have to escape.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I think we need to leave here, too.”
“Then we’re in agreement?”
She nodded.
“You have to remove the bullet, Sam.”
Flayme felt like crying. He had no idea what he was saying. Heck, he had no idea who she was. This was bad.
“I already did,” she said gently, hoping to soothe his restlessness.
He clamped his fingers around her wrist and jerked her on top of him. “Did I tell you I wanna fuck you?”
“Ooh, shit,” Flayme croaked. Panic flooded her insides. She felt his forehead. God, he was burning up and delirious. Absolutely delirious. He didn’t really wanna do her. In his delirium, he’d mistaken her for Sam, or some other woman. He didn’t know what he was saying. No way did he really want to—want to—well, just no way. He detested her.
She felt like bawling.
Did he really want to do Sam? That sucked!
She tried to push herself off him, but he tightened his arms arou
nd her waist. “Where do you think you’re going, beautiful?”
Flayme licked her lips. “You think I’m…you think I’m…beautiful?” She reared back. “Who am I?” she asked suspiciously.
He frowned. “My redhead?”
“I’m not your redhead,” she muttered. “And why am I arguing with you when you have no clue what you’re saying?”
“I’m dying to kiss you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Who am I?”
He blinked, then laughed. “What kind of game are we playing, Sam?”
Flayme wilted. “I’m not Sam.”
His lips twisted with a slight quirk. “I know who you are, my beautiful, sexy, Nicole.”
Flayme snapped her teeth together. That did it! It was bad enough being mistaken for Sam, but she was sick and tired of being compared to this Nicole character. “All right, cowboy, I think it’s time we cooled you off.”
“Okay,” he said agreeably. “What do you want me to do?”
“A cold shower.”
“You’ll shower with me?”
“Yeah, you bet!” Flayme helped him sit up on the side of the bed and pulled off his boots. “Can you stand?”
“Sure.” He stood up, but swayed unsteadily. “I need a drink. Thirsty,” he moaned.
Grabbing him by the shoulders, she steadied him. “Let’s get these jeans off you.”
“Okay.”
“Just like a man, agreeable to the end, willing to drop your pants for any woman.”
“Only for you, Nicole.” He wrapped his fingers in a strand of her long curls. “Such fire. A man could get burned if he wasn’t real careful. My beautiful, Nicole.”
Flayme cut her gaze up at him. “I am not Nicole, whoever the hell she is, and stop that dad-burned snickering. You sound like a…like a…oomph!” Flayme shoved her hair out of her eyes and glared. He’d pushed her onto the bed and flopped down beside her, naked as a plucked bird. She snapped her eyes shut, but boy, had she got a lovely, full frontal. “Uh—” He cut off her words by simply rolling on top of her. “Shit,” she squeaked.
His eyes glittered like polished emeralds, brilliant and shiny with fever. “Wanna play a little five-card-stud?”
His words, though slurred, left little doubt what he meant, especially when he thrust his hips.
“Uh…tempting…but, no.”
“No?” He frowned as though trying to figure out a complicated puzzle. “A little one-in-one, then?”
Flayme couldn’t help it, she giggled. “You are so going to hate yourself when you’re feeling better.”
“You feel good now.” He wiggled his hips again. Then with a soft sigh, he collapsed on top of her.
She rolled him off her and scooted off the bed. “So much for the shower.” Gingerly, she pulled the covers over his hips up to his waist. “Too bad you passed out, cowboy, the ride might have been something spectacular, if you’d been able to hold up your end of things. Pun intended.”
“Next time,” he mumbled. “I’ll get you next time, Nicole.”
“I’m not Nicole,” she whispered. “Sure wish I was, cowboy.”
* * * *
McLean, Virginia
February 17, Tuesday
Eleven hours and thirty minutes after the assassination…
Sam hung up the phone and turned to face her fellow workers. Gathered in the meeting room six doors down from her office, she discovered all eyes were on her. It wasn’t the first time and she didn’t figure it’d be the last. The next few hours were going to be hell. Her team expected answers. She didn’t have them.
Travis leaned against the doorframe, his face unreadable. She knew he was pissed at her, but right now, personal issues had to be set aside. She had an agent out there somewhere and a secretary, plus Jayla, her best friend, and all three were in danger. She couldn’t think about what Travis wanted from her—not at the moment.
She caught Angie Hillcrest’s solemn gaze and nodded. “Thank you for stepping in to fill Flayme’s shoes so quickly. I need someone who is familiar with her job.”
Angie smiled. “My pleasure, Mrs. Rivers.”
Neil Turner shifted from foot to foot, nervous. “Have you any idea what happened here last night?”
Sam frowned. “Only the most basic report, a man, or possibly two killed five guards and broke the security code, then one entered the building and shot up the place. He shot at Flayme. My friend, Jayla Ross escaped, but the other man was waiting outside for her.”
“Where are they now?” Angie asked, lifting a silver brow. “Ooh, I do hope both of them are safe.”
Sam shook her head. “I have no clue where Jayla is. I know she’s injured. The blood outside matched hers from old medical records. I’m not certain how badly she’s hurt, or if it means she was shot, but from the amount of blood, the wound isn’t slight. A BOLO has been issued for her and her car, but ladies, gentleman, she has hours of a head start.”
At their thoughtful expressions, Sam hurried to explain. “Just remember she hasn’t committed a crime. She’s hurt and frightened, and not thinking straight. So let’s make sure when we catch up with her, that she isn’t hurt or frightened any more than she already is. I’ve notified her stepfather, Senator Hamilton Ross of the circumstances. He is, of course, very upset and worried about his stepdaughter.”
“What about Flayme?” Neil asked. “I’d like to know she’s safe, for personal reasons.”
“Personal reasons?” Sam’s voice raised in surprise.
Neil looked smug, a weasel-like smile on his thick lips. “Yes. Certainly we’ve been discreet, but now isn’t the time for discretion. Flayme and I have been seeing each other for quite some time. I’d like to know where she is and that she’s safe.”
Sam tightened her lips. The lying bastard! Flayme wouldn’t give him the time of day. She reined in her temper. “That’s a question we’d all like to know, Neil, including Mac, remember him? He called earlier. And, oh, yes, the Secret Service, they’re really interested in her location, as well as Jayla’s, since she’s the only witness to the first lady’s assassination.” She paused long enough to take a sip of coffee, then continued, “I just hung up on the head honcho over at their office. Since we were the last ones to cover Molly’s security, they’re shifting the blame on us for her death. The president isn’t exactly head over heels in love with this latest job detail, so please, spare me your vivid imagination of you and Flayme getting it on. You only wish you could get in her pants.”
Neil’s face tightened with anger, but he made no reply. Sam was glad. She had too much on her plate to get into a slinging match with Neil, the womanizer. First chance she got, his ass was canned. “The Secret Service wants to question both Flayme and Jayla. They’re witnesses, people. I cannot stress enough that they’re the good guys, so don’t go after them with guns blazing, or I promise, you’ll answer to me. All right, people,” she clapped her hands in dismissal. “We have a big mess to clean up here, so let’s get started.” They all shuffled out of the meeting room, mumbling and talking amongst themselves.
“Travis?” Sam hurried to catch up with him.
“What?” He paused, waiting on her.
“I have to go over to the Secret Service and view the tape from the hotel elevator. Would you mind coming with me?”
He lifted a dark brow. “You’re actually requesting my help?”
“No, just a lift. My car’s making a funny sound.” It wasn’t, but he didn’t know that, and she felt like company. Officially, she was on vacation. Unofficially, she was on the job, but damn, she didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want time to think about Jayla and the danger she might be in, or even where Flayme and Duel were. She needed someone to distract her, and Travis was the biggest distraction she knew.
“You want me to check it out?”
“No, just a lift.”
“Anything you want, Sam, anytime. I think you know that.”
She nodded and stopped by her office for her coat. �
�Ready?” she asked.
“Yep.”
Sam sighed and wished she’d grabbed one more cup of coffee. It was going to be a long day.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Just because fate doesn’t deal you the right cards, it doesn’t mean you should give up. It just means you have to play the cards you get to their maximum potential.
~Les Brown
Western Australia
The Kimberly
February 16, Monday
12:00 p.m.
Fate was a fickle bitch, Taylor thought. Yet, every now and then, she went to the trouble to deal a fair hand. It was her gracious generosity, or if he wanted to give credit to a more Divine spirit—the hand of God—that guided him to where he needed to be at just the right moment.
Whatever it was, it kept him trudging forward with a bulldog determination he never knew he possessed. Guided by sheer instinct, he dragged the make-do travois behind him, step-step-step, one foot in front of the other, stumble, regain balance, step-step-step, over and over until he thought he’d drop from exhaustion. He refused to give up, until he reached the perfect spot where he paused for a breather.
Looking around, he wiped the smothering sweat off his forehead with the back on his hand and exhaled. Jesus, God, what I’d give for a drink of ice cold water. Thinking about it only made him thirstier. Already his tongue felt swollen. He’d used all the water the day before trying to bring down Dianna’s fever.
Every time he took a moment to catch his breath, he looked up at the dark green umbrella overhead and he knew there was no chance in hell of a rescue plane spotting them through the abundant vegetation.
They were going to die.
Yet it appeared Fate had her own plans for them, because at the exact moment he reached a small break, the dense jungle overhead also parted its frothy leaves, and a chopper flew over the treetops. Taylor blinked, then stared up at the sky. Like a giant bird of prey, the helicopter swooped low and hung there, bright, shiny, and red as an apple. The aircraft hovered gracefully overhead, whipping the treetops into a frenzy of motion.
Playing For Keeps (Montana Men) Page 27